


Executive Stress

by GrumpyGhostOwl



Series: Battle of the Planets: 2163 [13]
Category: Battle of the Planets, Kagaku Ninja Tai Gatchaman & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Footnotes, Gen, Things-fall-down-go-"Boom!"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyGhostOwl/pseuds/GrumpyGhostOwl
Summary: If you can’t beat them, join them. Or let them join you. After the events of 'Crusades,' the security staff realise they need to Take a Level in Badass if they're to have any hope of surviving the war. The Army, having failed to learn from the ISO's last disastrous foray into tronic technology, requests Anderson's assistance with their stalled tronic beam project and G-Force are called in to help with the investigation. Jason speculates about whips and Keyop gets to give a version of the 'White Shadow' speech. Things fall down and go, "Boom!"





	1. Taking a Level in Badass

**Author's Note:**

> ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS  
> Thank you to Wyldkat and Shayron for technical advice about the sorts of pointy things you generally wouldn’t wave around at a polite dinner party. (I don’t know what sorts of dinner parties you go to but at my house you wipe your boots on the mat and leave the safety catch ON while indoors, thank you very much.) Thank you to beta readers Katblu42, Shayron and Wyldkat. Chapter titles are from tvtropes.org.
> 
> PREVIOUSLY…  
> In late 2162, Chief Anderson was poisoned as part of a Spectra plot to cripple Galaxy Security’s leadership and Mark was forced to re-evaluate his relationship with the man who raised him while dealing with the giant flying Echidna ship which downed the Phoenix and stole the entire contents of Earth’s Vitalumis stockpile (Spectra Spiny Ant-Eater.) After G Force foiled Zoltar’s plot, Zoltar and Mala sent one of Spectra’s most feared assassins – The Viper – after Chief Anderson in The Ides of January. The ISO Tower was infiltrated, the attack foiled by G Force and the Viper was eliminated. Chief Anderson re-examined the past in Now and Then and Loose Ends and Keyop had his speech defect fixed. In Crusades, a diplomatic mission turned into a firefight – several firefights, in fact – with the Spectrans, who were once again repelled, much to the chagrin of the Great Spirit. Now our heroes are home again and it’s finally dawning on the security staff that there’s a pattern emerging.

Galaxy Security’s Chief Medical Officer studied the readouts in front of her. Her countenance grave, she tapped one end of her stylus against the desk blotter and leaned back in her chair, considering the data.  
  
Kate Halloran’s patient frowned at her from the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Are you planning on sharing the results or are you just going to lecture me about my workload again?” Security Chief Anderson asked.  
  
“You seem to have made a good recovery,” Kate said. “Your blood work and your stress test results are all within normal parameters for a man your age.”  
  
Anderson blinked. “A man _my age_ …” he echoed.  
  
“Well whose age do you think we’re looking at?” Kate retorted. “Dave, you’re pushing fifty. Hell, Bob and I already got there. You can’t expect to your body to function the way it did when you were thirty. None of us can,” she added. She put the tablet on her desk and offered up a wry smile. “Look on the bright side: at least you don’t have to cope with the long-term after-effects of childbirth.”  
  
“You know, Kate, I’ve noticed that you always say things like that when you want me to stop asking questions,” Anderson pointed out.  
  
“I say things like that when I want you to put your expectations into perspective,” Kate corrected. “This is middle age, population: a whole bunch of formerly young people like you and me. It happens. You’re healthy. A lot of people aren’t so lucky. Learn to live with it.”  
  
“ _I’ve still got my health?_ Seriously?”  
  
“Seriously. Now get back to work or the boss is going to think you’re slacking.”  
  
“Everyone’s a comedian,” the Chief of Staff grumbled, but he got out of his chair and left.   
  
When the door had closed behind Anderson, Kate waited a few seconds then tapped a control on the desk. “Mark? He’s leaving now.”  
  
Several minutes later, Commander Mark Hawking of G-Force sidled furtively into the CMO’s office. “How is he?” Mark asked.  
  
“Amazing,” Kate said. “He’s as fit and strong as a thirty-five-year-old.”  
  
Mark suppressed a groan. “You told him that?”  
  
“I did nothing of the kind,” Kate said. “I told him his state of health is within normal parameters for someone his age. And it is.”  
  
Mark smiled. “Thanks, Doctor Kate. I owe you one.”  
  
“I’ll put it on your tab,” Kate said. “But seriously, Mark, you don’t have to worry about him as much as you do. He’s made a remarkable recovery from his heart attack and he’s always kept himself fit and active. You don’t have to wrap him up in cotton wool.”  
  
“I know,” Mark said. “I just… I guess Doctor McCall would say I’m afraid of losing another father. Heck, she _did_ say that at my last session.”  
  
“Addie McCall is extremely good at her job,” Kate said. “You should listen to her now and again.”  
  
“I try,” Mark said. “So… bottom line is that the Chief has a clean bill of health.”  
  
“So clean, it’s squeaky. Now why do I get the feeling you’re about to ask me about something I might not approve of?”  
  
“What makes you think that?” Mark hedged.  
  
“Mark,” Kate said, “I’ve known you since you were four years old. Give me credit for being able to tell when you’re up to something.”  
  
  
  
  
“You what?” Anderson asked. His liaison and protocol officer and his security coordinator were occupying the visitors’ chairs in front of the Security Chief’s desk and being more than usually cryptic.  
  
“Give up,” Lieutenant Colonel Jones said. “I give up. You win. I despair of you ever using that whacking great intellect of yours to keep your head down and behave like a proper executive.”  
  
Anderson considered Jones’ statement and factored in the context of Major Alban’s poorly-concealed smirk before replying. “I think I’m going to take that as a compliment. Behaving like a proper executive has never been on my ‘to do’ list.”  
  
Jones folded her arms and directed a stern look at her Chief of Staff. “As you wish, sir.”  
  
“So tell me,” Anderson said, “what exactly does you giving up entail? And if the word ‘transfer’ is in there anywhere, I’m telling you right now I’m not going to approve it.”  
  
“There’s a saying,” Major Alban said. “ _If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em_. Or in this case, let ‘em join you.”  
  
“More information, please?” Anderson asked.  
  
Shay Alban gave her smirk free rein and leaned forward in her seat. “For the last two and a half years we’ve been effectively hitting our heads against a wall trying to get you to stay out of the line of fire. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome is one definition of insanity, so to prove that I’m not crazy, you’re hereby invited to train with my squad.”  
  
“What?” Anderson frowned.  
  
“I talked it over with Mark. He discussed it with the CMO and it’s agreed that when we go through our drills and our training scenarios, you should join in. If you’re going to insist on joining the party when we come under fire, I want to know which way you’re going to jump.”  
  
“Are you serious?” Anderson asked.  
  
“Deadly. You’ve got a medical clearance and everything. Next drill’s on Friday at fifteen hundred hours. Gunny’s put it in your schedule, sir.”  
  
  
  
  
Over the past week, Anderson had noticed members of his security detail moving slightly gingerly and wincing every now and again. “Is there something going around?” he asked Gunnery Sergeant McAllister as his administrative officer brought in a cup of coffee.  
  
“Getting your ass handed to you by G-Force, sir,” McAllister said, a slightly wistful note creeping into his voice. “It isn’t contagious. Not unless you put in a request, anyway.”  
  
Anderson paused with the coffee cup half way to his mouth. He put it down on his desk. “My staff are getting their asses handed to them by G-Force?”  
  
“It’s the natural order of things, Chief,” McAllister pointed out. “I’m booked for Thursday.”  
  
“Why would you want to do a thing like that?” Anderson asked.  
  
“Commander Hawking and Major Alban arranged it, sir. Advanced hand-to-hand combat training. Seems certain senior officers got a little ticked off about their lack of combat readiness after the Gaia mission and now Major Alban wants her squad trained by the best. The best being G-Force, naturally.”  
  
Anderson took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is all my fault,” he groaned.  
  
“How’s that, sir?”  
  
“On Gaia, there was… some ordnance exchanged. The details are classified, but… well… you know how I’ve always wondered what would happen if Colonel Jones actually lost her temper?”  
  
McAllister’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”  
  
“Really.”  
  
“Well, sir, I think Friday afternoon’s going to be interesting,” McAllister said. “If that’ll be all, sir?”  
  
  
  
  
“It was an accident,” Lieutenant Colonel Jones said (again). It was Monday morning, and the Chief of Galaxy Security was grumpy. Jones wasn’t exactly surprised, and privately, she had to admit that Anderson did have a case for a certain amount of grumpiness, although she wasn’t about to tell him that.  
  
“My own security coordinator elbowed me in the face!” Anderson said (again).  
  
“Your helmet saved you from the worst of it,” Jones reasoned. “You can hardly see the bruise now.”  
  
Gunnery Sergeant McAllister, Anderson mused, had been correct about Friday’s training session being interesting – for a given definition and context of ‘interesting,’ the most likely one being that used in the Chinese curse.  [1]  
  
“When we engage,” Jones had reminded Anderson before they left for the Academy to use the advanced training facilities, “we’re both under Shay’s orders. It’s her squad. You can change objectives if it’s appropriate to do so but the tactical decisions are hers and there can be absolutely no doubt whose directions are the ones being followed. If you countermand an order that she gives under fire you’d better have a bloody good reason for it.”  
  
Anderson, who privately felt that being the Chief of Galaxy Security was a pretty good reason, if not a bloody good one, had quashed the rebellious inner voice and paid attention to Jones’ instructions, aware that this session would be something new for him. In his career with Galaxy Security he had undergone combat training designed for individual agents. He had learned a lot in the field but had never fought as part of a unit. It made sense that there needed to be one person in charge and it also made sense – although it did rankle somewhat – that the one person in charge would be Shay Alban.  
  
Alberta Jones wasn’t the type to say, ‘Suck it up, buttercup,’ but she didn’t have to. The look she gave him told Anderson everything he needed to know about her views on vacuum pressure and flora.  
  
When Spectra’s combat androids were captured, Galaxy Security adopted a waste-not, want-not policy. Technicians wiped their programming, took out the motherboards and all the programmable electronics leaving the empty shell which was refurbished then fitted with a new brainbox and control unit. The android shell was now fully programmable, equipped with non-lethal weaponry and handed over to any one of the various ISO academies which used them as training devices.  
  
Shay had taken her squad with its two extra members into the training area to go up against a group of twenty androids.  
  
Anderson had done his best to try and follow orders until Jones had been set upon by three androids at once. He’d instinctively moved to assist along with Lieutenants Rossi and Thorne while Shay Alban swore and tried to extract him from the melee. The fight had lasted seconds but during the confusion he’d caught Shay’s elbow to the left eye. Afterward, he’d also caught a scathing lecture from a furious Major Alban. He’d expected one from Jones as well but she’d apparently decided to maintain her ‘I give up’ stance come hell or high water.  
  
It was disconcerting.  
  
Come Monday morning, Jones had offered tea, but little in the way of sympathy.  
  
This at least was normal Jones behaviour.  
  
Roland Galbraith, the Deputy Chief of Galaxy Security tapped at the doorframe with one hand. The other was holding a cup of coffee. “Morning, Dave; Al,” he said. “How did your training session go Friday?”  
  
Anderson began to draw breath but Jones got there first.  
  
“We’ve identified several key learning objectives, sir,” she said brightly. “All-in-all, it was quite positive.”  
  
Anderson simply glared at Jones.  
  
“Right,” Galbraith said, correctly interpreting the non-verbal cues for what they were. “Anyway, Executive meeting in five.”  
  
“Right,” Anderson said. He picked up his palm unit and put it in his pocket as he got up out of his chair. “And I have to go in there with a black eye!”  
  
Jones didn’t comment but one corner of her mouth twitched slightly. “I’ll be in my office,” she said primly, and headed for the door.  
  
“Hold up a second,” Anderson said. “I just had an idea.”  
  
  
  
  
Anderson was prepared for the smirks and the questions about his weekend. He brushed them off and opened the Galaxy Security executive group’s regular Monday morning meeting. He heard reports from each of the Executive Directors and discussed the Sector reports which had come in from the previous week.  
  
As usual, the meeting took about an hour and a half before it was time to wrap up.  
  
“Is there any other business?” Anderson asked.  
  
Nobody raised any salient points. Jack Lewindowsky muttered something to Deirdre Kelly and sniggered. Anderson didn’t hear what it was but he could guess.  
  
“You know,” Anderson said, “there was one other thing. You all know that I accompanied my protection detail on a training session last Friday. It was a learning experience and I think we could all benefit from it. By now, Lieutenant Colonel Jones and Major Alban will have briefed your security details and your coordinators will be working with your administrative officers to book all of you in for similar exercises. Previous experience has shown that Zoltar has a history of targeting officials such as ourselves and the ability to hold your own in a fire fight could make a difference to the outcome in the event that you find yourselves having to deal with hostiles.”  
  
The expressions on the faces of the Galaxy Security executive team could best be described as _Deer in Headlights, multiples of_. Idly, Anderson wished he could take a photograph.  
  
“It’ll be table-top, right?” Shane Cheng said hopefully.  
  
“Oh, no,” Anderson told the Director Corporate Services. “No, you’re all familiar enough with procedure that you don’t need to participate in table-top scenarios. I’m talking combat training. I want to make sure you all have a realistic idea of what to expect if you come under fire. All of you. Dust off the battle dress, people. We’ve… _identified some key learning objectives_.”  
  
  
  
  
At 1715 hours David Anderson shut down his desktop console and removed his palm unit from the slot. The sniggers about his black eye had ceased very quickly at the conclusion of the Executive meeting and been replaced with nervous glances and frantic discussions with security staff. Anderson noticed most of the security officers looking decidedly smug and even detected a few approving nods cast in his direction. He’d won some points with the uniforms, at least.  
  
There were several gymnasium facilities in the ISO Tower. Anderson had checked the room booking system earlier and noticed that the executive gym had been booked out straight after the morning meeting. The firing range had been utilised that afternoon by Deputy Chief Galbraith no less. The martial arts room was also booked out, but that was a block booking made by Shay Alban for advanced hand-to-hand training some time ago. This was Anderson’s destination. If he had to walk around his office sporting a black eye, he was at least going to see how it looked for his security staff to deal with the combat boot when it was on the other foot.  
  
Flanked by Lieutenants Greene and Richards, Anderson made as unobtrusive an entrance as he could. Nobody paid much attention as they were focussed on G-Force. Princess was working with Shay Alban and Nathan Thorne, going over strikes and blocks while Mark was sparring with Nino Rossi and clearly holding back. Tiny was blocking a flurry of blows from Ray Bairstow and Terry Falcone, seemingly without effort, while Keyop was speaking earnestly with Josh Maxwell and illustrating his point with rapid hand movements.  
  
Jason was closest to Anderson and acknowledged his superior with a nod. G-2 was opening a case and explaining the contents to Francine Patrick and Alberta Jones.  
  
“Good grief,” Anderson said as he approached. “I’d forgotten about those.”  
  
“I had the Center Neptune quartermaster dig ‘em out for me,” Jason said. He removed one of a pair of slim candy-pink batons with moulded hand grips from its resting place inside the case. “Back when we were still figuring out the G-Force arsenal,” Jason explained, “we experimented with a bunch of stuff. Everything we carry into the field these days is ranged, but we fooled around with a few melee weapons in the days before we went operational.”  
  
“Let me guess,” Jones said wryly. “You turned out to be deadly enough on your own that you didn’t need to carry the extra weight.”  
  
“Yeah,” Fran said. “I’ve sparred with Princess and she _is_ a melee weapon.”  
  
“Pretty much,” Jason said with a quick flash of a grin. “But these might be helpful for you. I’ve noticed that when you two spar with larger opponents, you usually hold your own, but when you do come off second-best, it’s usually down to your relative lack of upper body strength, height and reach. These should help cancel out any advantage a taller, stronger opponent might otherwise have. If you can overlook the fact that they’re pink, they’re basically your standard stun batons upgraded to G‑Force standard. I know you’ve been trained in the use of one baton, but today I’m going to show you how to use two for both offence and defence.”  
  
Jones took the second baton from the case and hefted it, testing its weight, then tried a couple of experimental swings. “Nicely balanced,” she said.  
  
“And deceptively lightweight,” Jason added, “until you’re being smacked upside the head with ‘em. There’s no aluminium in here. They’re titanium ceramalloy, which makes them a lot deadlier than a standard baton. Tiny can deliver enough force with one of these to smash a Kevlar helmet – and the head inside it – like an egg, but you don’t need to aim for that kind of power. You should be able to hit hard enough to break a rib or fracture a forearm without wearing yourself out. Make an accurate strike to an opponent’s throat and it’s potentially fatal. These are a hit-and-run kind of a weapon.”  
  
“So it follows that we’re hit-and-run kind of fighters?” Fran inferred.  
  
“Your goal is to get your protection assignment to safety, right?” Jason reasoned. “Hit and run seems to fit the bill. And if you can’t run, you can deliver over two hundred charges with the taser in the end before the battery goes flat. That’s another one of the non-standard features. It also makes disarming you really tricky. If an opponent tries to grab the baton, you just press the button and they’ll regret it straight away. It’s also pretty effective against those androids Spectra likes to use. They mass-produce ‘em on the cheap so the insulation’s nothing like what you’d find on a Quanto Tobor model. The taser’s your weapon of choice against those things. The happiness boys aren’t usually trained in melee combat, and Spectra’s gravity’s lighter than ours, so your regular conscript just doesn’t have the muscle mass or the bone density that we have. Come up against one of Zoltar’s elites, a cyborg or a fighter from Sigma Minor, however, your best course of action is to tase and run like hell.” Jason glanced over at Anderson. “Don’t let him play with these,” Jason said. “He gives everyone enough trouble as it is.”  
  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Anderson said.  
  
“It’s just one of the many services I provide,” Jason quipped. “Okay, today you’re going to use practice batons. If you like ‘em, we’ll have the armoury fix you up with the real thing.”  
  
The pink batons went back in their case and the women picked up pairs of bamboo practice weapons.  
  
“Basically,” Jason said, “your baton is just an extension of your arm. It works on the principle of moments.” [2] Without warning, he swung at Jones, who barely managed to block the blow with one baton and staggered backwards. Jason allowed the officer to regain her balance and moved in again.  
  
Anderson found a comfortable spot against the wall and settled in for an entertaining afternoon.  
  
  
  
  
“You sure you’re okay?” Jason asked for the third time.  
  
“It’s just a bruise,” Jones said.  
  
“Yeah, but…” Jason’s expression betrayed his discomfort.  
  
“Jason,” Jones said, “it’s not like you hit me, and even if you had, it’s combat training. It sort of goes with the territory.”  
  
“I’m still responsible for your safety,” Jason grumbled.  
  
“Jason, the bloody baton bounced off the training dummy! Let’s get over it,” Jones said.  
  
“I think it’s sweet that you’re so concerned,” Fran said with a smile.  
  
“Well, there goes my reputation!” Jason complained. “Seriously, though, you both show promise. If you can get the hang of these, you could be hard to beat in a fight.”  
  
“And I like the idea of the taser,” Fran said.  
  
“There’s just one thing,” Jones said.  
  
“Yeah?” Jason prompted.  
  
“The originals are pink,” Jones said. “There’s no way I’m going into combat clutching a pair of pink batons. The Freudian connotations alone are just appalling.”  
  
Fran burst out laughing while Jason smothered a cough.  
  
“You had to go there, didn’t you, Al?” Jason complained.  
  
“We need them in black,” Jones said.  
  
“To match your eye?” Jason teased.  
  
“That’s a new look for you, Al,” Anderson said as the little group approached him. He tossed an ice pack to his liaison and protocol officer. “Never let it be said that I don’t sympathise,” he said.  
  
Jones pressed the ice pack to her left eye. “Thank you, sir,” she said.  
  
“So how’s it coming along?” Anderson asked.  
  
“I’m discovering new and interesting ways to get knocked on my arse,” Jones said without rancour, “but it’s all educational.”  
  
“Al,” Anderson said, “I know that Gaia was… a little tense in places, but don’t you think you and Shay are taking this a little far?”  
  
“Not really, no,” Jones said. “We aren’t trained to go up against an army but we found ourselves facing one on Gaia. Who’s to say we won’t face them again? Then there was the Viper before that. We lucked out with her, pure and simple. If Zoltar’s going to keep trying to kill you, we have to be better than whoever he sends, every single time. He only has to be lucky or better once. So we have to make damned sure we’re as good as we can be. Collecting a few bruises and a bit of embarrassment seems to me to be a small price to pay.”  
  
  
  
  
Mark glanced up from his seat as the waiter brought a tray laden with food. Mark’s “Thanks,” was lost in the ambient music but the waiter – who was undoubtedly used to it – nodded an acknowledgement and walked away.  
  
Disco Doc’s was generally not crowded on a Monday night but the management seemed to be trying to make up for it by turning the volume up on the sound system.  
  
The Federation’s deadliest elite strike team rearranged their drinks and selected slices of pizza, ensuring that the Italiano with anchovies was shoved over closest to Mark and Tiny while Princess and Jason appropriated the Capricosa (no seafood) and Keyop simply took a slice of everything. For a few minutes, there was no discussion as G-Force focussed on their calorie intake.  
  
“Did I see you giving Fran my old batons?” Princess asked eventually.  
  
“You weren’t using ‘em,” Jason said with a shrug, and reached for a slice of garlic bread. “Shay’s gone and ordered like, two dozen sets of the things. I may have created a monster.”  
  
“Hey, I think it’s a great idea,” Princess said. “There was some cool stuff developed for us before the war and a lot of it got mothballed. It makes sense to use it.”  
  
“I dunno about the ‘energy ribbon,’ though,” Jason said. “That just seemed…”  
  
“Yeah, that was straight out of gym class,” Princess agreed. “The energy ribbon should probably stay in mothballs.”  
  
“Unless you updated it to an energy _whip_ ,” Jason speculated. “And if Al got her way and had it produced in black, it could be quite the look…”  
  
“Please don’t go there,” Mark said, after hastily swallowing a bite of pizza. “That’s a mental image I don’t need.”  
  
Tiny chuckled and washed down a mouthful of garlic bread with a swig of cola. “She’s not _that_ old,” he pointed out. “A lot of guys like older women.”  
  
Mark shook his head. “It’s not that. She’s a senior officer and a member of the Chief’s staff. We shouldn’t be disrespectful.”  
  
“Impressive,” Jason said.  
  
“What do you mean?” Mark asked.  
  
“You said that without laughing at all, not even a little bit – hey! What was that for?” Jason turned to Princess, who had delivered a light kick to his ankle.  
  
“Even if you don’t respect your elders,” Princess said, “you can respect my friends.”  
  
“Okay.” Jason held up his hands in the time-honoured gesture of surrender, which was only partially spoiled by the fact that he still had a half-eaten piece of garlic bread in one of them. “How d’you think they’re doing with this new training regime, anyway? You think they’ve got any chance at improving?”  
  
“I don’t see why not,” Princess said. “The training they’ve already got gives them a solid foundation to start from. The Academy instructors are pretty tough and you have to be good to get a spot on the Chief’s detail.”  
  
“They still wouldn’t stand much of a chance against a Galaxy Girl or a Blackbird,” Jason maintained, “although with the contact taser, they might have the element of surprise the first time out.”  
  
“Maybe not now,” Princess said. “Give them time.”  
  
“ _Any_ Galaxy Security officer should be able to take out a garden variety goon without much trouble,” Mark said, “but one on one against Zoltar’s elites, even with the advanced training we’re providing, they’d only be able to slow ‘em down. Still, that might be all that was needed.”  
  
“As in cannon fodder?” Princess inferred.  
  
“It isn’t a pleasant idea,” Jason admitted, “but I was with those guys on Gaia. Each one of ‘em was prepared to die if necessary.”  
  
“I hope it never comes to that,” Princess said.  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  1. The one that goes, “May you live in interesting times.” Katblu42 was kind enough to suggest the one from _Firefly_ that goes: “Oh God, oh, God, we’re all going to die.”  

  2. A turning moment is expressed in Newton Metres and is the product of force multiplied by the radius from a fulcrum, so if you belt someone with a baton, you hit them harder than if you used the same amount of force and the same action to hit them with your hand. Basically, it’s levers.




	2. Drill Sergeant Nasty / As You Know, Bob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you think it might be Spectra?"

Sergeant Coustas could have retired five years ago if he’d wanted to. There were ISO personnel in whose nightmares he still featured who wished he would retire. Sergeant Coustas had been injured in action early in his career and had a cybernetic ear, which like all cybernetic implants, carried a lifetime risk of rejection and therefore constituted a permanent bar to combat fitness. Apart from the ear, the rest of Sergeant Coustas was as combat-fit as – or more so than – just about anyone else in the Interplanetary Security Organisation. For more than two decades, Sergeant Coustas had trained ISO Officer Candidates in hand-to-hand combat at ISO Brewer Memorial Training Academy. Security Chief Anderson had gone to the ISO Training Academy at West Point so he had missed the worst of Sergeant Coustas but had undergone assessments with the man; several of the Galaxy Security directors could remember training with Sergeant Coustas; G‑Force had trained with Sergeant Coustas; and even now, the mere mention of Sergeant Coustas could make people with a lot of braid on their uniforms shudder with an involuntary and visceral terror.  
  
Those with any knowledge of the classics suspected that Sergeant Coustas was probably a direct descendant of the Myrmidons, but no-one was ever game to ask, and certainly no-one dared to pass comment on the fact that Coustas’ own Patroclus was a couturier who specialised in ball gowns.[3]  
  
Lieutenant Colonel Jones had trained with Sergeant Coustas and was grateful for it. She had found the experience no more traumatic than anyone else and was glad that Coustas had settled on nothing worse than “Mary Poppins” as his own personal pejorative for her. Of course once Jones graduated, Coustas wasn’t allowed to call her “Mary Poppins” to her face, but Coustas could make “sir” or “ma’am” sound like the worst insult in the Galaxy if he was so minded.  
  
Coustas’ current usage of “ma’am” was grudging, which for Coustas, was a high praise indeed.  
  
“You’ve certainly improved your hand-to-hand skills over the last eight weeks, ma’am,” was what the grizzled Drill Sergeant had to say.  
  
“I’m _attempting to_ , Sergeant,” Jones said, mopping the sweat from her brow with a towel.  
  
Coustas finished resetting the training androids. “Return to maintenance bay,” he told them and they obediently marched away. Coustas nodded towards where Security Chief Anderson was cleaning and checking his training gun prior to returning it to the cabinet. “So tell me, Colonel, why have I had so many high-falutin’ G‑Sec Directors through here after hours?” Coustas asked. “I understand why you meat shields are here, but the _Director Corporate Services?_ ”  
  
“Reality check on Gaia,” Jones said. “The waiters stopped waiting, as you used to say.”  
  
“Huh,” Coustas said, seemingly pleased. “You remember that, do you?”  
  
“Given the number of times you screamed it into my ears over a year and a half, it’s somewhat difficult to forget,” Jones pointed out. “I take it you still call us waiters.”  
  
“It’s what you do,” Coustas said. “You Protective Services knuckle-draggers can spend your whole careers _waiting_ for shit to happen. Ma’am.”  
  
“Quite so,” Jones agreed without rancour. “Ninety-nine percent boredom, one percent sheer terror.”  
  
Coustas looked Jones up and down. His gaze was appraising rather than appreciative. “At least you’ve got halfway-decent muscle mass. You can kick like a mule, although you still need to work on your upper body strength rather than relying on those batons. Too easy for waiters to let yourselves go. All that standing around and waiting for it to hit the fan. When it does, you’re not always ready. I’m not just talking about physical fitness, either.”  
  
“Too true, I’m afraid,” Jones said. “This war’s different.”  
  
“Also true,” Coustas growled. “We trained our people for a friendly game of golf and Zoltar’s playing ice hockey.”  
  
“Which answers your question: Chief Anderson’s realised that we’re playing ice hockey, and he wants his executive team to understand the game. Now it’s your turn to answer a question: what’s your assessment of Major Alban’s squad?”  
  
“Used to be yours, didn’t they? Before you took that desk job being _polite_ to people for a living?” Coustas’ tone left Jones in no doubt as to his opinion of the Liaison and Protocol function.  
  
“They did,” Jones said, unperturbed.  
  
“Rossi’s the best fighter out of the lot. Alban’s not far behind. Falcone needs to quit smoking. Maxwell’s the most improved, but he’s let his age catch up with him. Patrick’s good but doesn’t seem to have realised that this isn’t a game. The rest of ‘em are pretty sound. Overall the squad’s working at a higher standard than most units outside of Special Forces. As for General-in-Chief Anderson… well, he’s got the highest kill rate out of all of you. I wasn’t expecting to see that from a suit. And then there’s you. Your biggest advantage is surprise. That’s _not_ a compliment by the way.”  
  
“Thank you, Sergeant.”  
  
“Don’t get overconfident,” Coustas warned. “That’s how people get killed.”  
  
“With you around to keep us all grounded, Sergeant, I think that’s a fairly safe bet. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must find a shower.”  
  
“Of course, ma’am. Can’t have a Liaison and Protocol officer smelling like she does any real work.”  
  
Jones actually chuckled at that, albeit briefly. “Heaven forbid, Sergeant Coustas. Heaven forbid.”  
  
  
  
  
“This way, Field Marshall,” Sergeant Coustas said. “The rest of the squad’s just finishing up in the showers.”  
  
Yusef Al-Farouk followed Sergeant Coustas to where Security Chief Anderson appeared to be holding up one wall of the gymnasium while he checked the messages on his palm unit. Two security officers stood nearby, seemingly at ease but the Chief of the Army could see that they were watching him as he approached and were ready to move in any direction if need be.  
  
“David,” Al-Farouk said. “Gunny McAllister said you’d be here. What are you doing, training to take on Spectra by yourself?”  
  
“Blame Zoltar,” Anderson said. “I keep getting shot at. Figured I might as well shoot back. What’s so important you had to come out here to see me?”  
  
“For one thing,” Al-Farouk said, “I was already out at ISO Powell and Brewer’s closer than going back to the Tower. For another, well, let’s take a walk.”  
  
Field Marshall Al-Farouk’s security detail nodded to Anderson’s guards and the four officers maintained a discreet distance while the two Chiefs of Staff left the gymnasium and strolled along a quiet pathway. Classes had finished for the day and this part of the campus was relatively private.  
  
“It should be safe enough to talk here,” Anderson said.  
  
“For some time now,” Al-Farouk said, “I’ve had an R-and-D team working on a tronic beam weapon.”  
  
“I know,” Anderson said. “I would have advised you against it but it would have been tactless for me to let you know that I was aware of the project.”  
  
Al-Farouk stopped mid-stride. “How…? Oh, never mind. You’d probably never tell me anyway.”  
  
Anderson shrugged. “You know how it is.”  
  
“Not really,” Al-Farouk said, resuming his slow pace along the footpath. “In the Army, we yell ‘Charge’ before we take a run-up and shoot stuff. Give the other guy fair warning, you know? Skulking around in dark corners is your deal.”  [4]  
  
“If you want to know how to overcome the safety issues, Joe, I cancelled G-Sec’s tronic project on those grounds.”  
  
“And look how well that turned out,” Al-Farouk couldn’t resist saying, earning himself a glare from his colleague.  
  
“Point taken,” Anderson conceded with poor grace. “So what do you need from me, if not the tronic beam safety manual or a lesson on how not to handle scientists with big ideas and bigger egos?”  
  
“Actually, Dave, I need you,” Al-Farouk said. “Or rather, I need the Federation’s leading – _surviving_ – expert on tronic technology, and according to my people, you’re it.”  
  
“You’re kidding, right?” Anderson asked.  
  
“I’m afraid not,” Al-Farouk said.  
  
  
  
  
“I’m afraid not,” Mark said. “I’m sorry, but you asked for my opinion and that’s it. You cancelled Doctor Strecker’s tronic project because it was too dangerous. The Army’s lost its leading scientist in some kind of accident and now Field Marshall Al-Farouk wants you to put your ass on the line? I say no.”  
  
“I’m with Mark,” Jason said. “The Army needs to cut its losses and run. I say we give ‘em a dictionary with a big yellow Post-it next to the word ‘unsafe’.”  
  
“Can’t we just send them everything we salvaged out of the wreckage from Stellar City?” Tiny asked.  
  
“We already did,” Anderson said. “Once the forensic engineers submitted their report, the technical information was shared with all the other ISO agencies. It seems the Army used that information to further its own tronic research project.”  
  
“If I remember it right,” Princess said, “Doctor Strecker was part of Special Projects Division. Can’t Director Halloran send one of his people?”  
  
“It turns out,” Anderson said, “that I really am the ISO’s foremost expert on tronic technology, and Field Marshall Al‑Farouk only wants me to assess the project to see whether or not it’s worth trying to continue. My instincts tell me that I’ll be advising him to decommission it, but what really worries me is the accident report. Here. It’s eyes only. No copies.” He handed over a manila folder, which Mark took and opened. Princess craned her neck to read it and Mark held it to his left to allow her to share.  
  
“You don’t think it was an accident,” Princess said, meeting Anderson’s gaze over the top of the folder. “You think it was Spectra.”  
  
Jason rolled his eyes. “So you’re going to go along, and you’re going to bring us with you, and it’s going to turn into a make-something-fall-down-and-go-’boom!’ op.”  
  
“Chief, why did you ask me what I thought about it?” Mark asked.  
  
“I wanted an open and frank exchange of views,” Anderson said.  
  
“Even if you had no intention of listening?” Mark challenged.  
  
“Now that you have all the information, what do you think?” Anderson asked.  
  
“I still think it’s dangerous,” Mark said, “but for a wider variety of reasons!” He closed the file and put it down on Anderson’s desk. “Princess, do you think the project can be assessed without conducting the kind of test-firing that could put anyone at risk?”  
  
“In theory,” Princess said. “An experienced scientist who was familiar with the technology should be able to extrapolate the possible outcomes.”  
  
“And if we bring a couple uniforms with us,” Jason suggested, “the lab can be kept relatively secure while we do some snooping.”  
  
“Won’t that upset the Army brass?” Tiny asked.  
  
“Does it matter?” Keyop asked. “They’re the ones who want your help, Chief.”  
  
“Which is why,” Anderson said, “ _if_ I agree to Field Marshall Al-Farouk’s request, any such agreement will be contingent on two things: a re-investigation into the accident and the presence of G-Force.”  
  
Mark frowned. “You mean you haven’t made up your mind?”  
  
“Not yet,” Anderson said.  
  
“You really wanted to hear what we think?”  
  
“As difficult as that may be to believe, yes.”  
  
“Hold on a sec’,” Mark said and walked to the window. He made a show of looking outside at the skyline. “Nope, we haven’t fallen into some weird parallel universe or anything.” He turned back to the others. “We take precautions,” he said.  
  
“Yes,” Anderson agreed.  
  
“No firing up the equipment just to see if you can make it go ‘boom!’ twice in a row.”  
  
“No,” Anderson said.  
  
“And no big damn hero stuff.”  
  
“You never let me have any fun,” Anderson deadpanned.  
  
“I mean it, Dad,” Mark said, playing his trump card.  
  
“Okay,” Anderson said.  
  
  
  
  
“ _G-Force_ ,” Field Marshall Al-Farouk echoed. “ _Isn’t that a little over the top?_ ” The Chief of the Army folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, his image seeming to shrink slightly on Anderson’s tele-comm screen as Al‑Farouk moved away from the camera.  
  
“It’s a deal-breaker,” Security Chief Anderson pointed out.  
  
“ _And this reopening of the accident investigation?_ ” Al-Farouk asked.  
  
“The report raised a couple of red flags with my analysts,” Anderson said. “It fits Spectra’s M O.”  
  
“ _You think it was sabotage?_ ”  
  
“I’ll know more if we can reopen the investigation,” Anderson said. “Galaxy Security has a lot of experience at being infiltrated.”  
  
“ _So it goes that you’ve developed something of an instinct_ ,” Al-Farouk concluded. “ _All right. We do it your way. I take it we’ll be seeing the_ Phoenix _on site? That bird of yours is a little high-profile for a secret installation_.”  
  
“We can park it off-site,” Anderson conceded. “You’d be surprised how good G-5 is at hiding a big blue and red warship when he needs to.”  
  
“ _I try not to be surprised by anything that G-Force pulls off, Dave_ ,” Yusef Al-Farouk said. “ _It’s just too tiring otherwise._ ”  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  1. Recent history shows that this is clearly not true, particularly since the demise of horse-mounted cavalry, but Field Marshal Al‑Farouk has a droll sense of humour. In his job, he needs one. After all, it’s his people who generally end up as cannon fodder for the Monster of the Week and he has to put up with all those tired old jokes about military intelligence being a contradiction in terms etc. He’s just getting his own back where he can.




	3. The Unsolved Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No, really, do you think it's Spectra?"

Tiny Harper eased the _Phoenix_ into a clearing which until the previous day, hadn’t really been large enough to accommodate the G-Force warship. Some very obliging Army personnel had enlarged it and stood guard to ensure that no curious bystanders allowed their curiosity to lead them to do anything unwise. Possibly with a significant pause… just so. For further emphasis, the author might even splurge on italics, so that it becomes anything… _unwise_.  
  
The remaining four-fifths of G-Force were currently aboard an ISO Multi-Modal Transport unit en-route to ISO Dempsey, the Army base closest to the tronic laboratory.  
  
“Why don’t we just tell the Army it was Spectra?” Jason wanted to know.  
  
“What would you say if someone up and told you that Spectra was responsible for something you thought was an accident?” Mark countered.  
  
“Probably something along the lines of, ‘Just let me get my gun,’” Jason said.  
  
“Okay, poor choice of argument,” Mark conceded. “Jason, we don’t have any evidence.”  
  
“We have statistics,” Jason pointed out. “What are the odds?”  
  
“Pretty high,” Mark said.  
  
“Let’s nobody do anything completely crazy, like, oh, I don’t know, keep an open mind,” Princess said.  
  
“We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t think it was Spectra,” Jason said. “You only have to check out today’s fashion choices.”  
  
“Ease up, Jase,” Princess said. “You know those Army types give more respect to a uniform.”  
  
Security Chief Anderson had his usual complement of two guards with him, but the two in question were Major Alban and Lieutenant Rossi and he’d brought Colonel Jones along, ostensibly to act as liaison between Galaxy Security and the Army. Even Field Marshall Al-Farouk couldn’t object to the presence of a liaison officer. All four wore Galaxy Security field uniforms which incorporated a mass-produced version of the lightweight body armour found in G-Force battle gear: midnight blue trousers, boots, turtleneck and a short jacket worn over the top. Anderson and his guards were all carrying two side arms each. The security officers each had a pair of batons hanging from their belts, duly made of matte black ceramalloy without a trace of pink.  
  
“You do look like you’re expecting trouble, Chief,” Jason said.  
  
“Plan for the worst, hope for the best,” Anderson said.  
  
  
  
  
At Center Neptune Control, 7-Zark-7 was waiting for a G-Sec satellite to move into position. The Earth Orbit Traffic Control robot 12-LEN-5 was being difficult about clearances.  
  
“Lenny,” Zark said, “this is _important_. I have people about to put boots on the ground in that sector and I need the high-acuity sensors on Two-Niner.”  
  
“ _You had G-Sec Low Orbit One-Four over that sector for three hours yesterday!_ ” 12-LEN-5 said. “ _I had to re‑position three civilian commsats and disrupt the broadcast of the third test decider, UK versus India, at Lord’s for fourteen point three two seven seconds – to_ Mumbai _!_  [1] _Do you have any idea how many complaints were generated from angry Indian cricket fans?”_  
  
“I know I was hogging airspace,” Zark said, “but this is a security matter. Low Orbit One-Four returned a body of data which requires further examination. Low Orbit Two-Niner has newer equipment on board. I need those scans, Lenny! Don’t make me invoke the Galaxy Security Act.”  
  
“ _It’s no ceramalloy off my sensors if you do_ ,” 12-LEN-5 retorted. “ _It’s still going to take thirteen point nine minutes to reposition the media sats so that you can get Low Orbit Two-Niner in place. I can’t just time-warp them into position, no matter how much legislation you quote at me!_ ”  
  
“Lenny…” Zark began, then thought better of it. “Never mind. Thank you for your time.” Zark terminated the call and placed another one. “Susan? Do you have ears on? I need a favour.”  
  
Five point eight minutes later, Galaxy Security LO-29 was in position and beginning an ultra-high resolution thermal and broad-spectrum scan of Zark’s target area while Susan lavished compliments on 12‑LEN‑5, praising his dedication to duty and awe-inspiring multi-tasking skills, and thanking him for his cooperation.  
  
“My stars and gear cogs,” Zark muttered to himself. “I’m starting to think like a human.”  
  
  
  
  
“You look like you’re expecting trouble,” Field Marshall Al-Farouk said. At Anderson’s look, he gestured at his own khaki battle dress. “Army, remember? I can’t recall the last time I saw you in anything other than a bad suit.”  
  
“Zoltar kept shooting at the suit,” Anderson said. “I thought I’d try blending in.”  
  
Al-Farouk looked around at the bright battle dress of the G-Force team and the midnight blue-clad security officers who stood amidst a sea of khaki. He raised his eyebrows. “Let me know how that works out for you.”  
  
Sensibly, given its potential for disproportionately large explosions if things went wrong, the tronic lab was located away from Dempsey Base and as such a convoy of Humvees had been arranged to take the Galaxy Security contingent out for its inspection. The heavy vehicles rolled out of the base and made their way to a ramshackle and neglected farm with the kind of old-fashioned barn that looked as though it had seen generations of weathering. The driveway was incongruously worn with fresh tyre tracks, however, and there was a somewhat newer extension built onto the back of the barn.  
  
The Humvees drove straight into the barn where they were stopped by sentries and the occupants were subjected to identity checks. In the case of G-Force, this consisted mostly of saluting and wide-eyed stares before the vehicles entered a tunnel and headed underground.  
  
Mark answered a call on his bracelet from 7-Zark-7. “Ears on, Zark.”  
  
“ _Commander! I’ve completed a scan and_ –”  
  
“Hold,” Mark said, making a point of not glancing at the driver of the Humvee. “Did you relay the message to Chief Anderson?”  
  
“ _Yes, Commander_.”  
  
“Security protocol gamma. I’ll let you know if I need you to brief me. G-1 out.”  
  
Jason tilted his head slightly to the left. “Gamma protocol, huh?”  
  
“That’s my call,” Mark said, his tone leaving no room for argument.  
  
“Copy that,” Princess said.  
  
  
  
  
The tronic lab itself was several levels underground. Privately, Anderson had to admit that its housing was far safer than Center Neptune both structurally and in terms of flooding potential. He wasn’t about to concede as much to Yusef Al‑Farouk, however.  
  
The lead scientist was a dour Scottish major who had been seconded in from another project and wasn’t happy about it. “Andy McGregor,” he introduced himself. “I know enough about tronic technology to be worried about it and not enough to be sure of anything. I appreciate you taking the time to advise us, Doctor.”  
  
“I’ll need somewhere to examine the operating system,” Anderson said once the introductions had been made.  
  
“Major Perez will show you to an office you can use,” McGregor said.  
  
“Follow me please, sir,” a slight, olive-skinned man said, and led the Galaxy Security contingent to a small, utilitarian office – a cubicle, really – which ran off an alcove adjacent to the main laboratory. “Our IT people have already arranged access for you – just plug your palm unit into the interface and the network will request biometric ID. If you have any questions, I’ll be in the lab.”  
  
Perez squeezed out past Jason and Keyop who were in the process of squeezing in through the narrow doorway.  
  
“Ow!” Jason rubbed his elbow where he’d hit it against a filing cabinet. “They’ve really gone all out with the five-star accommodation,” he remarked.  
  
“Maybe you should go and investigate the scene of the explosion,” Anderson suggested. “Zark ran a scan and it seems there was quite a lot of damage in the area. He’s had some anomalous local energy readings as well. We can’t be sure exactly what it means at this stage, but –”  
  
“You suspect Spectra activity,” Mark concluded. “Who else could it be? Okay, let’s check it out. We’re just spinning our wheels here. Except maybe for Princess.”  
  
“Do you want me to stay here, Chief?” Princess asked. “I’ve studied an overview of Doctor Strecker’s work and I promise I won’t blow anything up… unless you want stuff blown up, of course.”  
  
“I’d say yes,” Anderson said, “but given that you have some knowledge of tronic technology, I’d like you to take the lead when it’s time to interview the investigating officers. In the meantime, I’d like you to study Zark’s scan of the area and see what you make of it.”  
  
“Okay, Chief,” Princess said. She fished in a belt compartment for a 3V display disc and slipped the component into her wristband underneath the touch-sensitive face. Anderson touched his palm unit to the wristband and after a moment, a hologram appeared above Princess’ wrist. She perched on the edge of a desk and began examining the readout.  
  
“Uh…” Keyop said. “I’m all for doing the good-cop, bad-cop thing an’ all, but are these guys going to take me seriously? I’m a little short to be a stormtrooper.”  
  
“Maybe you could help Lieutenant Rossi guard the door,” Anderson suggested.  
  
“What am I guarding it from?” Keyop asked.  
  
“You’re a deterrent,” Anderson said. “I hate being interrupted when I’m reading. Practice looking like you’re just waiting for someone to underestimate you. Show Lieutenant Rossi how it’s done.”  
  
“Ooooooh,” Keyop breathed. “Complex role play! Do I get XP for this?”  
  
“We could discuss the possibility of ice cream after the mission,” Anderson countered.  
  
“Yes, sir! Ow!” Keyop saluted so fast his hand bounced off his helmet. Rubbing his hand, he took up position with Lieutenant Rossi outside the door and practiced looking dangerous while his team-mates headed out to the tronic testing laboratory.  
  
  
  
  
Jason folded his arms and surveyed the pristine tronic testing laboratory. “Well that answers that question,” he said.  
  
Mark made a circuit of the room, running a hand along the recently-repaired wall surface. “No incident scene left to investigate,” he said.  
  
“To be fair, I guess the Army _had_ concluded its investigation,” Jason said.  
  
“True,” Mark said. “I guess we go find the investigating officers and talk with them. Call Princess. Have her meet us there.”  
  
  
  
  
“He can’t be interrupted,” Keyop said, pitching his voice as low and menacing as he could. G-4 folded his skinny arms and planted his feet firmly on the floor. Beside him, Nino Rossi was drawing on all of his parenting experience in order to keep a straight face.  
  
“Sir,” the young man in the uniform of an Army captain was sweating. “Sir, I really need to talk to him. If my section head finds out I’m here I’ll be in big trouble.”  
  
Keyop frowned and jabbed an accusatory finger in the captain’s direction. “How do I know you aren’t a spy? Or an assassin?”  
  
The young officer, whose name tag read, ‘Owens,’ looked as though he might wet himself.  
  
Nino Rossi decided to put the visitor out of his misery. “What do you need to see him about, sir?”  
  
“Uh… well, sir… I mean, Lieutenant, I have information.”  
  
“Wait here, sir,” Rossi said. “I’ll get the liaison officer.”  
  
Keyop practiced glaring at Owens while Rossi slipped inside the office to retrieve Lieutenant Colonel Jones.  
  
“You have information?” Jones said as she stepped out of the office with Lieutenant Rossi, who shut the door behind them.  
  
“Uh, yes, sir – ma’am. Sir.” Owens babbled.  
  
“Relax, Captain Owens. I promise I won’t bite,” Jones said. She looked the young officer up and down. “Not even if you asked me.”  
  
“P-pardon?” Owens asked, his eyes widening.  
  
“That was what we in Galaxy Security call ‘humour,’ Captain Owens,” Jones said. “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”  
  
“N-no, sir,” Owens said miserably.  
  
“All right, then,” Jones said. “Where _should_ you be?”  
  
“Coffee break, sir.”  
  
“From which department?”  
  
“Occupational Health and Safety, sir.”  
  
“I see,” Jones said. “What’s this about information, then?”  
  
“What information, sir?”  
  
Jones took a deep breath. “The information you said you had, Owens.”  
  
“Oh, that. I don’t have it sir. Ma’am. Sir. It was deleted.”  
  
“Perhaps, Captain, you should start from the beginning.”  
  
“Ma’am, I was part of the investigation into the tronic incident. I’m a forensic engineer. There was… anomalous evidence that wasn’t used in the report. My section head told me that if I drew attention to it, I’d end up on the front lines facing down some terror ship from Planet Spectra!”  
  
“I see,” Jones said. “And where would I find this anomalous evidence if I were to go looking for it?”  
  
“My section head deleted the information, sir.”  
  
“Your section head’s name please.”  
  
“Matthews, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Geoff Matthews. The thing is…” Owens leaned in, sweat beading on his upper lip. “There’s still evidence in the tronic testing lab. They _literally_ covered it over with new wall panelling!”  
  
“Thank you, Captain.” Jones said. “You may leave.”  
  
“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”  
  
“Well, don’t just stand there cluttering up the room, Owens. You’re dismissed!”  
  
“Sir!”  
  
Keyop tilted his head on one side and watched Owens flee the room at speed. “You’re scary, Al, you know that?”  
  
“Oh, nonsense,” Jones said. “That one’s afraid of his own shadow. Can’t imagine how he managed to make captain… Unless that’s what he wants us to think. Bit over-the-top, wasn’t he?”  
  
“You think he’s a spy?” Keyop asked, brightening considerably. “It’s a double-bluff? Can we go and investigate? Can we? I could use my mad ninja skills and tail him undetected! _I am the white shadow, who slips in unseen_!”  
  
“Sorry, you’re the what?” Jones asked.  
  
“The white shadow, who slips in unseen,” Keyop said. “It’s from some old 3V show. I thought it sounded cool.”  
  
“Oh, right. Yes, very dramatic, sir. So, speaking as the, er…”  
  
“White shadow,” Keyop supplied helpfully.  
  
“Yes. What do you think of our man, then?” Jones asked. “Was he genuinely a gormless milksop or was he trying too hard?”  
  
Keyop shrugged. “I’m suspicious,” he declared, and practiced a ‘suspicious’ face.  
  
“Nino?” Jones prompted.  
  
“I’m inclined to agree with G-4,” Rossi said. “And you are kinda scary, Colonel.”  
  
“Well come on, Mister-White-Shadow- _etcetera_ ,” Jones said to Keyop. “We’re going to have to interrupt the lion in his den. You have noticed that your uniform isn’t actually white, haven’t you?”  
  
“It’s artistic license!” Keyop protested. “Sheesh! Grown-ups!”  
  
  
  
  
“You doubt this Captain Owens’ veracity?” Anderson surmised once Jones and Keyop finished recounting their impromptu meeting with their informant.  
  
“If you ask me if I’m acting on feminine intuition,” Jones warned, “I shall respond appropriately. For a given value of ‘appropriate.’”  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Anderson said wryly. He leaned back in his seat. “So, we have an allegation from a very nervous individual that information which may have been germane to our investigation was deleted by a senior officer. Potential cover up? Or misdirection?” Anderson opened a communication channel. “Zark?”  
  
“ _Right here, sir_.”  
  
“Zark, I’d like you to access this facility’s OH and S server. Search for files that were deleted by Lieutenant Colonel Matthews between the time of the tronic beam accident and today’s date. See if you can recover them.”  
  
“ _Yes, sir. I’ll let you know what I find. Center Neptune Control, out._ ”  
  
“Should you even be saying that out loud?” Keyop asked. “I mean, the Army has its own Zark unit.”  
  
Anderson nodded toward the small silver cube sitting on the desk next to the computer terminal. “6-Zark-5’s an older model than ours,” he said, “and that filtering device won’t let him eavesdrop.”  
  
“What about the conversation we had with Owens outside?” Jones asked.  
  
“It’s got an effective radius of twenty-feet,” Anderson said.  
  
“I knew there was something I liked about you, sir,” Jones said.  
  
“We both know it isn’t my personal charm,” Anderson retorted.  
  
“No,” Jones said. “It’s your sheer deviousness and low cunning.”  
  
“I do my best,” Anderson said.  
  
“Yeesh!” Keyop said. “Get a room!”  
  
Shay Alban hastily stifled a snigger. “Either way,” she said, “whether it’s a genuine cover-up or an attempt at misdirection, we’ve got a potential problem.”  
  
“Yeah,” Keyop said. “Something’s rotten in… um… Sweden?”  
  
“Denmark!” the others chorused.  
  
“Whatever,” Keyop said. “Knew it was some place in Europe. Anyway. I’ll send a coded message and bring the others up to speed.” The boy began tapping at the touch-sensitive face of his wrist communicator.  
  
  
  
  
Lieutenant Colonel Geoffrey Matthews had been somewhat disconcerted to find his office full of G-Force.  
  
The two young men were tall, broad-shouldered and dressed in combat gear which included helmets and visors that gave Matthews the impression that he was being sized up for a meal by a couple of predatory birds.  
  
Matthews had no doubt that this was intentional.  
  
The girl was less intimidating until Matthews made eye contact. Then he started to worry.  
  
The G-Force Commander and his second stood back and allowed G-3 to ask the questions, and it was obvious that she knew more about tronic beam technology than most people. Matthews answered her questions until she excused herself and stepped outside the office to spend a few moments in the doorway staring at the flashing device on her wrist.  
  
When the girl turned her head back toward Matthews, there was a glint in her green eyes that made her seem more frightening than either of the men.  
  
“You mean,” Matthews said after the girl – _young woman_ , he reminded himself; this was no girl – had asked him about deleted files, “did we make the evidence fit the theory? No. There was a lot of data, and some of it was genuinely extraneous, but nothing relevant was left out. Why do you think it’s such a large file? Field Marshall Al-Farouk was less than happy that we’d put so much stuff in. He said it was like trying to get through _War and Peace_ … only without the peace.”  
  
The G-Force Commander shrugged. “That _does_ sound like something Field Marshall Al-Farouk would say,” he conceded. “That guy’s almost as caustic as the Chief some times.”  
  
“The new panelling in the tronic testing lab,” Princess said. “What’s behind it?”  
  
“Mostly concrete and rock,” Matthews said. “If you’d like us to take the panels off, we can do that. I can get a team down there now and you can observe the whole deal if that’s what you need to do. Field Marshall Al-Farouk said we were to cooperate fully with anything you guys wanted.”  
  
“So where’s all the tronic equipment?” Princess asked. “An empty lab doesn’t tell us much.”  
  
“It was all crated and stripped down for refurbishment,” Matthews explained. “The damaged stuff was slated for destruction but we put a hold on that when your General-in-Chief said he wanted to reopen the investigation. We can open up the crates and you can take a look if you want.”  
  
“Let’s do that,” Princess decided, “but first, let’s see what’s behind those panels.”  
  
“Okay,” Matthews said. “I’ll call Engineering.”  
  
  
  
  
Shay Alban pushed away from the wall she’d been leaning against. “I don’t like this. Field Marshall Al-Farouk has someone at this facility who isn’t acting in the Federation’s best interests. Chief, we should leave, give the Army brass a heads-up and let G-Force handle things from here.”  
  
“Shay’s right,” Jones said. “Much as I love a good puzzle, this situation has the potential to get ugly, and I detest ugly situations.”  
  
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Al?” Anderson chided.  
  
“I sent it to its room after Gaia,” Jones said. “My survival instinct, however, is right here and talking to you. You’ve got Shay, Nino, Keyop and me, but we don’t know how many people are involved in whatever’s going on here, and whoever they are, we’re on an Army base, so they’ve got the same guns we have, and probably some bigger ones as well.” Jones allowed herself a sigh. “Why do I never think to bring an LX-20?”  [4]  
  
“Aside from the fact that an LX-20 would be a serious case of overkill, you have a point,” Anderson said. “Just give me a second or two.” He removed a small metallic case from his trouser pocket and withdrew a tiny wafer that glittered in the light. He crouched down and peered under the desk. “Okay,” he muttered, “the Army’s cleaners aren’t any better than ours.” He removed a flashlight from its belt pouch and shone the beam around into the shadows.  “Al, could you hold this?” he asked. Jones took the flashlight and bent down to direct the beam at the cables leading from the computer access jack to the wall. Anderson reached under the desk to position the wafer between the data cable and the bottom of the desk, and the tiny device flexed and attached itself to the cable.  
  
“What did you just do, sir?” Jones asked, switching the flashlight off as Anderson straightened up.  
  
Anderson got to his feet. “Spy stuff,” he said, dusting himself off.  
  
“Which we won’t be telling Field Marshall Al-Farouk about just yet?” Jones inferred, handing the flashlight back to its owner.  
  
“Not _just_ yet,” Anderson said. He returned the flashlight to its pouch.  
  
“Let me guess,” Jones said. “When we get back to the office, Zark’s going to be able to access everything at this base without being detected, isn’t he?”  
  
“Our tax dollars at work, Colonel,” Anderson said. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “If you can’t spy on your friends, who _can_ you spy on?”  
  
“We should get outa here,” Keyop said. “If that Owens guy really is the scaredy-cat he looked to be, and he gives the game away, it might prompt our bad guy to do something.”  
  
“I’m so over defectors,” Anderson sighed. “And traitors. And imposters. And double-agents.”  
  
“Tell me all about it while we’re heading back up to the surface, sir,” Jones said.  
  
Anderson logged out of the computer system and retrieved his palm unit. “Hope that doesn’t give them a clue that we’re leaving,” he said.  
  
“Let’s deal with things as they arise,” Alban suggested. She opened the office door. “We’re moving, Nino. Take point.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am!” Rossi headed into the computer modelling lab and glared at the occupants, who glanced around in surprise. “Clear,” Rossi said.  
  
The Galaxy Security contingent strode forth, watched by the startled occupants of the computer modelling lab.  
  
“Well, if the computer activity didn’t tell people we were moving, this certainly will,” Jones murmured.  
  
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Anderson muttered back.  
  
“That’s Lieutenant Colonel Obvious, thank you very much,” Jones retorted under her breath.  
  
“Hold up a sec’,” Keyop said. He stopped walking and stared at his wristband, whose face was flashing in a coded sequence. “I got a message coming in. The others want us to meet them in the tronic testing lab.”  
  
  
  
  
The engineers had brought their tools and had begun removing the tech screws that held the stainless steel wall panels in place.  
  
G-Force stood to one side, safely out of the way to watch the proceedings. Mark’s communicator chimed and he glanced at it. The communicator began to flash with a coded message. Mark frowned and began tapping out a reply.  
  
A few minutes later, Keyop led Rossi, Anderson, Alban and Jones into the empty tronic testing lab. “Got your message!” the boy announced.  
  
“This is where Zark picked up those anomalies, Chief,” Princess said. “You know more about tronic technology than I do. I was hoping you could tell us if the damage behind these panels is consistent with a tronic accident, or whether there was something else going on.”  
  
The engineers lifted a panel aside.  
  
As expected, there was damaged concrete on the other side.  
  
“You can see where the edge of the blast hit,” the senior engineer said as his colleagues wrestled with a second panel. “None of the structural members were damaged, so we just cleaned it up, replaced the wall studs and put new pan– _what in all the circles of hell is THAT?_ ”  
  
The senior engineer stepped back from the wall. The other two engineers dropped the wall panel with a thunderous clang of metal.  
  
A door with a live access panel was set into the scorched concrete.  
  
“That wasn’t there before!” one of the engineers exclaimed, pointing.  
  
“Everyone out,” Mark ordered.  
  
The engineers grabbed their tools and ran.  
  
“Well?” Jason demanded. “Who’s going to be the one to say it?”  
  
The Galaxy Security contingent exchanged glances before Keyop raised a hand. “Ahem!” he cleared his throat and struck a pose. “Do you think it might be Spectra?” he recited dutifully.  
  
“Chief,” Mark said, “you’d better head topside. Leave this to us.” He began herding Anderson and his staff toward the exit.  
  
“Okay,” Anderson said. “Keep me informed of develop-” The rest of Anderson’s sentence was lost in a detonation and a groan of tortured metal. A rumbling noise rose to a roar, the lights went out and the room seemed to fill with dust and noise.  
  
As darkness engulfed them, the floor tipped and everyone tried to find something to hang on to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  1. The author assumes that the people of Mumbai will still be as cricket-mad in 2163 as they are at the time of writing, which is pretty darned cricket-mad. At the time of the interruption to which 12-LEN-5 alluded, India was playing England in the third test decider and had gone in to bat, having won the toss. It was only the first innings but India was at 2 for 167 with opener Kushdev Singh holding on at 96 runs after English Vice Captain Derek Brown had dropped Singh on 84 at silly mid-off. England had just brought in Ronnie Armitage (their top spinner) to try and get Singh out before he made a century and things were pretty tense, let me tell you. [2] Humanity may have reached the stars and the Earth may have been united politically, but old cricket rivalries _never_ die.
  2. Don’t worry. Lots of people don’t understand a game that uses terms like slips, silly wicket and square leg. It’s really quite all right. If ever you find yourself at an actual cricket match, just pass the tea and lamingtons [3] (or the home-made sausage rolls) clap politely and say, “Well played!” on those odd occasions when it looks as though something is actually happening. You’ll be fine. Oh, and wear a hat. Hats are mandatory for players and spectators alike.
  3. A staple of Australian junior and community cricket games in days gone by, a lamington is a small cube of vanilla sponge dipped in runny chocolate icing on all sides and tossed in desiccated coconut. If made correctly, it sets nicely to a delicious, chocolately, coconutty treat. A lot of sporting and community organisations in Australia used to raise funds by way of a thing called a Lamington Drive, where participants would obtain orders from all their friends and neighbours, then the ladies would have a get-together at the church hall and make dozens and dozens of lamingtons. You’d end up sticky to the elbows and raise a modest sum of money. Nowadays the lamington-making is outsourced to commercial bakeries and the old-fashioned community lamington drive has become lost in the mists of time. (Commercial lamingtons are never as good as home-made ones, though!) It should be noted that it is impossible to eat a lamington without getting covered in coconut. It’s just part of the lamington experience.
  4. The ISO LX-20 heavy assault rifle is a step up from the ISO’s standard-issue LX-12 assault rifle and like the LX-12, is used across all the services. It’s a downright nasty piece of work, so if someone points an LX-20 in your general direction, you would be well-advised to do exactly what they tell you without debate or hesitation, otherwise it’ll be a closed casket job for you, sunshine. The flip side of the coin is that if you point an LX-20 at somebody or something and intend to pull the trigger, you’d better have both feet very firmly braced or you’ll end up flat on your back with the ceiling you’ve just shot to bits falling on your head. Or possibly birds. Don’t try this at home.




	4. Storming the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Okay, it's probably Spectra."

Mark fetched up painfully against a concrete block. The world had stopped moving and while it was dark, it wasn’t pitch black, but there was a lot of dust in the air and the sound of an alarm was loud in his ears.  
  
He had grabbed hold of Chief Anderson and tried to protect him as they’d fallen, seemingly sliding down something that felt like the toboggan run from hell. A litany of muttered curses from the weight pinning him down had Mark struggling to help his foster father to his feet.  
  
“You okay, Chief?” Mark asked, struggling to find his footing.  
  
“Yes,” Anderson said. “What about the others?”  
  
Mark squinted into the gloom. They appeared to be at the bottom of some kind of landslide… building slide? _Collapse_. That was the word. The room had collapsed. There had been an explosion… a bomb? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.  
  
There was little to be seen above, just a tumble of concrete, rock and steel.  
  
Cold fingers of fear clenched around his vitals. Was there anyone trapped underneath the rubble?  
  
Jason coughed, sputtered and spat. “Well, shoot,” he said, “and don’t think it didn’t take an effort not to say anything worse than that. Shay, can you get off of me, please?”  
  
“Quit your griping,” Shay muttered. “I’m trying.”  
  
“Yeah, well, it’s a good thing you’re a girl,” Jason grumbled. “At least I know that’s a baton digging into my side!”  
  
“Mark?” Princess called. “Keyop?”  
  
“Aw, man,” Keyop grumbled. “Let me tell you right now, rock surfing as a sport is _never_ going to take off!”  
  
“Thanks for the save, sir,” Rossi said. “You all right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Keyop said. “Man, what a mess!”  
  
“Okay, sound off,” Mark said. “Who’s here?”  
  
“G-2,” Jason said.  
  
“G-3,” Princess said.  
  
“G-4! Present!” Keyop declared.  
  
“Anderson.”  
  
“Alban.”  
  
“Rossi.”  
  
“Jones.”  
  
“Is anyone hurt?” Anderson asked.  
  
Nobody spoke.  
  
“Looks like bumps and bruises all ‘round, sir,” Jones said. “You?”  
  
“Same,” Anderson said. “We were lucky.”  
  
“Yeah,” Keyop said. “Looks like we fell just ahead of a whole lotta stuff. All those steel panels probably saved us, like a slide. It’s a miracle we weren’t killed!”  
  
“I’d say you’re right,” Princess said. “It was a small charge and appears to have done most of its damage on this side of the door which is why we aren’t all dead or coughing up what’s left of our lungs. It was probably designed to obliterate forensic evidence.”  
  
“You can tell all that _now_?” Alban asked. “In the dark?”  
  
“Call it an educated guess,” Princess said.  
  
“Yeah,” Jason said. “That charge wasn’t big enough to cause this cave-in thing, or whatever it is, by itself. If it was, we’d be smeared across the walls.”  
  
“Exactly,” Princess said. “The charge was probably just the last straw for an already-compromised structure. What’s the betting we’re inside a Spectra base?”  
  
“It’s highly likely,” Anderson said. He turned around, shining his flashlight beam upward. “I can’t see how we can get back up to the level we were on from here. Somebody try calling Zark.”  
  
“Zark?” Keyop ventured. “You got ears on?”  
  
There was a hiss of static.  
  
“Why don’t you try, sir?” Jones suggested. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if you could get a signal out when nobody else can.”  
  
“Just what are you suggesting, Colonel?” Anderson asked, pulling his palm unit from his pocket and opening a channel.  
  
“Just that when it comes to hacking ISO systems, it’s a bloody good thing you’re on our side,” Jones said wryly.  
  
“I decline to comment on the grounds I may incriminate myself,” Anderson said as he tapped at the screen of the palm unit. “Zark, do you read?”  
  
A garbled sound that was probably 7-Zark-7 speaking perfectly clearly at the other end of the connection issued forth from Anderson’s palm unit.  
  
“I’m going to take that as a maybe,” Anderson said. “Zark, your transmission’s unreadable this end. We’ve been caught in some kind of building collapse in the tronic testing laboratory. We can’t get out the way we got in. We’re going to have to find another way. Brief Field Marshall Al-Farouk and tell him I said to cancel the damned tronic project!” Anderson closed the channel. “I knew this stuff was too dangerous,” he said.  
  
Jones muttered something that might have been, “Pity you didn’t take your own advice,” and covered it with a cough.  
  
“Tiny,” Mark said, having opened a channel on his own communicator. “Tiny, do you read? Come in.”  
  
There was no reply.  
  
“Not good,” Jason said. “I guess we keep trying at intervals and hope that Zark heard the Chief’s transmission.”  
  
“We need to move,” Anderson said. “That alarm’s going to bring responders, my boosted signal probably showed up on receivers for miles around and I have a feeling that the next people we see aren’t going to be wearing ISO uniforms.”  
  
The three security staffers each drew a side-arm and Rossi ventured cautiously toward the light, limping slightly.  
  
“You okay, Nino?” Alban asked.  
  
“Sprained my ankle, boss,” Rossi said. “Boot’s supporting it. No biggie.” He found a gap in the fallen concrete where the light was brightest and peered into the tunnel. “Looks clear,” he said.  
  
“Well,” Mark said, “waiting here probably isn’t our best option. I’ll take point. Jason, you’ve got our six.”  
  
There was only one clear way forward, so they took it with G-Force flanking the more vulnerable members of the group. Keyop tested any doors they passed, listening for activity with his enhanced hearing before trying the release, and found one that opened into what looked like a store-room.  
  
The eight infiltrators took refuge, with Keyop on station at the door while Alban and Jones checked the shelves.  
  
“No weapons,” Alban said, “but this looks like bottled water. There’s some rope… duct tape, fixings, whatever the Spectra equivalent of WD-40 is… batteries, spanner set… rations… first aid kits… Well I suppose this stuff could be useful if we were going to try and MacGyver our way out of here but otherwise –”  
  
“Shh!” Keyop hissed, and pushed the door shut. He switched off the light. “Company!”  
  
Through the sound of the ever-present alarm, the sound of marching feet could be heard. Voices floated above the cadence. The voices were speaking Spectran.  
  
“ – _always get the shitty jobs. Y’know, Corporal, if we find another burst sewage pipe I’m gonna shoot someone_.”  
  
“ _That noise we heard was no sewage pipe. Sounded like a charge going off, and it was near where they say that ISO base is._ ”  
  
“ _Oh, great. Terrific! It’s probably G-Force. Oh Spirit, we’re all gonna die!_ ”  
  
“ _Shut up, you turds! Keep you mouths shut and your minds – such as they are – on the job. Move it! Double time!_ ”  
  
When the sounds of the grumbling squad had passed, Anderson switched on his flashlight. “Well,” he said softly, “we’re up the proverbial creek, aren’t we?”  
  
Jason hefted his gun. “Then we’re just going to have to start paddling,” he said.  
  
Jones stood with hands on hips. “If we get out of this alive,” she said, “I’m really going to enjoy hearing the explanation as to how an ISO base and a Spectra base ended up as next-door neighbours.”  
  
“Let’s focus on getting out alive, first,” Anderson suggested.  
  
“And remember what I said before,” Mark said. “No big damn hero stuff!”  
  
“When did you say that?” Alban asked.  
  
“He means me,” Anderson said.  
  
“And by extension, the rest of you,” Mark added.  
  
“I can live with that,” Jones said.  
  
The alarm shut off and the sudden lack of noise made the quiet seem suddenly eerie.  
  
“What is this place, anyway?” Jason asked.  
  
“The tronic research base was built in a converted silver mine,” Princess said. “Looks like Spectra did the same thing. According to the scans Zark’s been doing, this whole area’s riddled with old workings. If Spectra utilised existing tunnels, the changes wouldn’t have shown up on any rudimentary geophysical surveys, and if Spectra did the work slowly, say, using androids and without using too much heavy machinery, they could have slipped by under the guise of working an old mine or something.”  
  
“I think we need to evict the new tenants,” Jason said. “We didn’t tell them they could remodel the joint.”  
  
“That works for me,” Mark said with a grim smile. “Let’s issue a notice.”  
  
Princess tossed her yoyo from one hand to the other and offered up a grim smile. “Leave that to me, Commander” she said.  
  
“Okay,” Mark said. He took a breath and let it out again. “Here’s what we do. We split up. Jason, you and I’ll create a diversion and attract as much attention as we can. Princess, you find something that’ll make a nice big ‘kaboom!’ and make it go, ‘kaboom!’ Keyop, you take the Chief and the others and find a way out of here. I’ll say it again: no big damn hero stuff. You do what you have to do to remain undetected and get out safely.”  
  
“Understood,” Anderson said. “Good luck, Commander.”  
  
“Let’s move out,” Mark said.  
  
  
  
  
Commander Astenn paced the breadth of his control centre, turned and paced back again. A tall, wiry individual whose lanky frame belied battle-hardened muscle and sinew, he had never really considered himself to be a nervous sort of a man. He had never had any problems when he had been in charge of a slave camp on Sigma Minor. He had done his duty with equanimity when raiding the colonial shipping lanes near Albion. He had remained calm during the disastrous attempt at geothermal energy theft on Altair-5 and had kept a cool head during the methane crisis in the Greater Swamps of Adzar [1] back home on Spectra.  
  
This assignment, though… this assignment was enough to make anyone twitchy.  
  
Lord Zoltar had thought it was hilarious to build a secret base cheek-by-jowl with the Army’s tronic testing facility and sabotage the programme. Tronic technology was too valuable to allow the ISO to succeed, especially since the traitorous Benjamin Strecker’s research had been destroyed when he crashed his ship over Stellar City. The traitor had rigged his laboratory with all his records and the backups to self-destruct when he died. Earthlings! You couldn’t even trust them to betray each other properly.  
  
To show willing, Astenn had managed a supportive chuckle when Lord Zoltar had dissolved into gales of maniacal laughter at the thought of building the base in the abandoned mine complex. The access tunnel allowed Astenn’s personnel to come and go at will to ensure their double-agents were performing as required. It had been easy to rig the ‘malfunction’ of the tronic equipment and capture Doctor Edelsten, who had revealed the extent of the Army’s progress before he was executed.  
  
Nobody had told Astenn about any more plans for additional malfunctions, however, so the blast at the point where the two bases intersected had the Spectran commander concerned.  
  
After all, he was sitting right next to an ISO facility, and the commanders of ISO facilities were the kinds of people who might conceivably know other people who might have G-Force on speed dial.  
  
Commander Astenn really didn’t want his people to meet G-Force.  
  
G-Force had an unfortunate tendency to happen to Spectrans, and while Astenn had contingency plans for such an encounter, those plans didn’t include the survival of most of his men. This bothered him.  
  
“Commander,” one of the controllers said, “Crew Three has reported some kind of cave-in blocking Tunnel One Nine. Crew Five reports Tunnel Two Nine is also blocked and that there appears to be a breach all the way into the ISO base! The tronic testing lab appears to have been sealed off from the other side.”  
  
“Send a squad to guard the breach,” Astenn said. “No, make it three squads. There’s an entire ISO base on the other side of that door. I don’t like this at all.”  
  
“Yes, Commander,” the controller said, and set about organising the movement of personnel.  
  
Astenn continued his pacing.  
  
“Commander,” the senior controller said, “we’ve lost contact with Crew Three.”  
  
“Oh, _ignots_!” Astenn groaned.  [2]  
  
  
  
  
“They don’t make these as tough as they used to,” Jason quipped, nudging a fallen man with the toe of one boot.  
  
“They’re probably not infantry,” Princess said. “They’re probably technical or engineering staff sent to investigate the building collapse.”  
  
“Pardon me if I don’t stop to ask for a résumé before hitting ‘em,” Jason said.  
  
“Fair enough,” Princess said. “I’m going to try and find a plant room or something and see if I can organise that ‘kaboom!’ you ordered, Mark.”  
  
“Good hunting,” Mark said with a nod. He watched as Princess ran down the corridor and vanished around a turning.  
  
“She’ll be okay, you know,” Jason said.  
  
“Yeah,” Mark said. “Princess can take care of herself and then some.”  
  
“Hey, I know!” Jason said. “Let’s find some security cameras and play trick or treat!”  
  
“I’m going to go with trick,” Mark said.  
  
“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”  
  
  
  
  
“You _lost_ ‘em?” Tiny demanded. “Zark, how do you _lose_ eight people?”  
  
On screen, 7-Zark-7 wrung his mechanical hands together. “ _I’ve got a low-orbit satellite scanning for them, Tiny, but the Spectra base must be shielded. My previous scans picked up an anomaly which is_ why _I was running a deep scan today, but my sensors just can’t discern any detail! Readings from the Army base suggest that there was some kind of detonation in the tronic testing area which made the floor collapse, and that was when I lost contact with our people! They’ve tried to call me and from what I could make out from the badly degraded signal, they all survived the collapse, but it’s anyone’s guess as to where they are now or what they’re doing! This is terrible! Oh, I’ve got such an awful ache in my sublineal transdeucer!_ ”  
  
“Huh.” Tiny began flipping switches as he went through his pre-start checks. “Well, you go get yourself an electronic aspirin or whatever it is you take for a sublineal transdeucer-ache, dude. I’m planting the _Phoenix_ over the top of that base whether the Army likes it or not! If G-Force needs me, I’m going to be right there.”  
  
  
  
  
The alarm klaxon had started up again and red lights flashed at intervals along the tunnels, casting a dancing, lurid red glow.  
  
Keyop led his little group of fugitives, straining his ears to try and detect any signs of activity through the din of the alarm. Behind him, Nino Rossi followed with gun drawn, still favouring his left foot, followed by Anderson and Jones, with Shay Alban bringing up the rear.  
  
“Can’t say I think much of the local ambiance,” Jones remarked.  
  
“Yeah,” Keyop agreed. “They could really use a decorator. With claymores. Or maybe a super bird missile!”  
  
“We can take that under consideration once we’re all out of here,” Anderson said.  
  
Keyop froze, his keen hearing picking up sounds. “We’re about to have company, folks.” He cast around for a refuge and led his group back to an intersection. They flattened themselves against the wall and released the safety catches on their sidearms with a vicious chorus of clicks as Keyop held his bolas ready to strike.  
  
“How many?” Alban murmured.  
  
“Probably a standard squad of twelve,” Keyop murmured back. “Be ready.”  
  
The four adults readied their firearms.  
  
Keyop nodded. “Wait for my signal,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Hopefully they’ll walk right by.”  
  
The little group tensed as the sound of marching feet grew audible to un-augmented ears over the sound of the klaxon.  
  
A group of soldiers, their focus straight ahead, began to pass the intersection. Fortunately, their half-masks restricted their peripheral vision.  
  
To Keyop’s horror, a door slid open approximately ten feet away in the corridor they were occupying and a Spectran with a mop and bucket sauntered out. The Spectran froze. Keyop threw his bolas and the Spectran fell with the weapon around his neck.  
  
The galvanised bucket he had been holding hit the floor with a clatter and a slosh of dirty water.  
  
“I’m going in low! Open fire!” Keyop declared and launched himself at the soldiers even as they began to respond to the noise. He used his lack of stature to advantage as he dove into the middle of the group and began striking out at knees to bring the soldiers down.  
  
The Spectrans were caught by surprise as gunfire erupted from the adjacent corridor. Eight of them fell before the survivors began to fumble and attempt to bring their assault rifles to bear. One managed to release the safety catch on his weapon and shoot two of his own comrades before being felled.  
  
Within seconds, all twelve were on the floor. Keyop straightened up and looked around. “Hey, not bad for a bunch of old people,” he told his comrades.  
  
“Cover me,” Alban said as she ventured forward, kicking rifles clear of hands and checking to see if any of the Spectrans were alive. “Okay,” she said. “We’re clear.”  
  
While Alban dealt with the downed Spectrans, Keyop had returned to the Spectran janitor. He removed the bolas from the man’s neck, pulled the mask from his head and squeezed his shoulders to bring him around. The janitor gasped and tensed, then went limp as he realised he was staring into the face of a G-Force member. He began babbling in Spectran.  
  
Anderson walked over to consider the prisoner. “I can only understand about every third word this guy’s saying,” he remarked.  
  
“It’s some weird dialect or other,” Keyop said.  
  
“It’s a sub-dialect of Erukian Spectran,” Jones said. “A bit like the Spectran version of the Glasgwegian accent. The universal translator has trouble with it. He _should_ understand you if you speak to him in Common Spectran.”  
  
“Okay.” Keyop tilted his head and considered the prisoner. “ _How do we get out of here?_ ” he asked. “My Spectran accent’s probably as bad as his, y’know.”  
  
The Spectran offered up a stream of apparent gibberish.  
  
“Well?” Keyop prompted, glancing up at Jones.  
  
“I think he’s telling us to look behind the door _.”_ Weapon drawn, Jones opened the door that the Spectran had come out of and ducked into the room. There was a sound like breaking plastic, then Jones emerged again with a card in her hands. “There was an emergency evacuation map,” she announced. “Hooray for health and safety!”  
  
“I knew there was a reason I like working with you,” Anderson said.  
  
  
  
  
“Oh, great!” Field Marshall Al-Farouk growled. “Fantastic! Amazing! G-Force is here for five damned minutes and they manage to find a Spectra base hidden _right next to ours!_ How the hell did this happen?” The Chief of Staff of the Army was standing outside the large barn that concealed the entrance to the tronic development facility.  
  
Colonel Wilson, the base Commanding Officer, made a helpless gesture. “Sir, there are old mine shafts all through this area. It was why we chose to build the underground testing facility here in the first place.”  
  
“And this… this… _maggot_!” Al-Farouk snarled, pointing at Captain Owens, who was standing miserably, wrists secured in handcuffs with two military police flanking him. “What’s his story?”  
  
Lieutenant Colonel Matthews saluted. “Sir! He appears to be the one who set the explosion. We found residue on his hands and uniform. He appears to have entered the computer modelling lab, where 6-Zark-5 lost contact with him, then he exited again, after which Anderson’s party left the lab, went to the testing area and the explosion went off. We also found this on his palm unit.” Matthews handed over a standard-issue palm unit with a non-standard messaging application open.  
  
Al-Farouk scrolled through the messages, his expression turning thunderous as he did so. “A Spectra mole?” he surmised. “Get him out of my sight before I do something he’ll regret! How’s the evacuation progressing?”  
  
“Over ninety percent of the base personnel are accounted for, sir,” Wilson said. “We’ll be clear in a few minutes.”  
  
Yusef Al-Farouk shook his head and glared up at the prow of the _Phoenix_ which loomed over him. It shouldn’t have been possible for a ship to look accusatory, but somehow, it did.  
  
“Anderson had better be alive,” Al-Farouk growled. “If that bastard dies down there, I wouldn’t put it past him to damned well _haunt_ me!”  
  
  
  
  
“Commander Astenn?” the senior controller said. “You need to see this.”  
  
Astenn made his way to the senior controller’s station and stared aghast at the image on the main monitor.  
  
Two members of G-Force were looking up at one of the surveillance cameras.  
  
“Is this live?” Astenn demanded. “Where are they?”  
  
“Tunnel one-six, sector four,” the controller said. “They just – oh!” Both the controller and the commander instinctively ducked as the dark-clad member of G-Force aimed a gun at the camera and fired.  
  
The screen filled with static.  
  
“Commander?” the controller ventured. “Should I send a squad?”  
  
Astenn paced in a circle. “Clearly, that is what they _want_!” he said. “This is what we will do: send squads to all adjacent sectors, but do not engage the enemy unless they approach. They obviously want us to attack them, so we will not give them the satisfaction.” He made a deliberate effort to unclench his jaw. “Sound a general alarm. Have all personnel armed and ready to deal with the intruders.”  
  
  
  
  
Keyop automatically glanced up when the klaxon stopped, but then an announcement blared over the speakers. The announcement was in Spectran, which meant that Keyop and Jones understood it perfectly, Anderson got the general gist of it, and Rossi and Alban were left in the dark.  
  
“Crud!” Keyop said. Rossi and Alban glanced at him.  
  
“Sir?” Rossi prompted.  
  
“It’s a general alarm,” Keyop said. “Telling Zoltar’s goons to be on the lookout for G-Force.”  
  
Alban shrugged. “I guess we should have expected something like this,” she said. “The others were setting out to make noise, after all.”  
  
  
  
  
“I can’t help but notice a profound lack of happiness boys,” Jason remarked. “Think maybe they’re _un_ happy?”  
  
“I guess they didn’t fall for it,” Mark said. “Well, if they don’t want to come find us, we’ll just have to go find them!” He broke into a jog and Jason followed, weapons at the ready.  
  
It turned out that the Spectrans weren’t that far away. Mark literally ran into a squad as he rounded a corner. There was a fraction of a second where Mark’s momentum carried him into the midst of the startled squad, then he was striking out with the blades of his boomerang and the Spectrans seemed torn between fighting back and running away.  
  
Those who opted to run away, however, ran into Jason.  
  
Mark spun, ready to deliver a knockout blow to the enemy he could hear behind him, only to see the man topple with a feather dart in the throat.  
  
“Thanks, Jase,” he said.  
  
“Yeah, I’m just one of life’s altruists,” Jason said.  
  
  
  
  
“What we have, sir,” the senior controller said, “are two groups. There are two G-Force fighters – they appear to be G-1 and G-2 – who are attacking our men, seemingly as targets of opportunity. The second, larger group appears to be led by G-4 with four individuals in Galaxy Security uniforms who seem to be engaging with our men only if they can’t avoid it. I would suggest, Commander, that it is this second group we should target. They appear to have an objective in mind while the others seem to be trying to divert resources away from them.”  
  
“Where are they headed?” Commander Astenn asked.  
  
“They seem to be making their way toward the main hangar, sir,” the controller said.  
  
“Send three squads to the hangar.” Astenn folded his arms. “Has there been any word from Captain Owens?”  
  
“None, sir. He isn’t responding to any of our hails. He may have been injured in the explosion.”  
  
“More likely he was the cause of it! Keep trying to make contact. I will be in my quarters. Keep me informed of any developments.”  
  
  
  
  
“I don’t like this,” Mark said. “We’ve run into… what, three squads? Whoever’s in charge isn’t making us a priority.”  
  
“I hope they haven’t detected Princess,” Jason said. “I know she can take care of herself, but none of us can handle being mobbed without backup. We need to blow something up!”  
  
“Hold that thought,” Mark said. “I’m going to check in and see what’s going on.” He began to tap at his communicator.  
  
Within a second of his message being concluded, an answering message appeared.  
  
“She’s okay,” Jason sighed with relief, having interpreted the code for himself.  
  
“Now for Keyop,” Mark said, and repeated his message on G-4’s channel.  
  
“Hey, Mark,” Jason said, “if the happiness boys aren’t following us, and they haven’t found Princess…”  
  
“Oh, crud,” Mark said. He opened a voice channel and broke radio silence. “Keyop, send me a homing signal _now_. We’re coming your way!”  
  
Mark and Jason broke into a run.  
  
  
  
  
The pink yo-yo struck the guard in the temple and he crumpled without making a sound. His comrade started and brought his weapon to bear just in time to see his field of vision fill up with a white-gloved fist.  
  
Princess returned her yo-yo to its holster and strolled into the reactor room. It wasn’t a large power plant, clearly designed for efficiency and minimal heat output in an attempt to avoid detection.  
  
The lone engineer on duty put his hands up and squeaked, “ _I surrender_!” in Spectran.  
  
“ _Sensible man_ ,” Princess told him in the same language.  
  
The size of the reactor suggested to Princess that the base itself wasn’t very large, a suspicion which was confirmed when she accessed the engineering system. The terrified engineer knelt trembling on the floor with his hands behind his head and made no attempt to escape.  
  
Princess made a slow circuit of the room, casually flipping switches as she went. When she returned to the control console she crooked a finger at her prisoner. “ _This way_ ,” she told him.  
  
At the door to the plant room, Princess placed a charge. “ _Take those two,_ ” she said, indicating the fallen guards, “ _and run for your lives._ ”  
  
The Spectran grabbed his compatriots by the wrists and began tugging with might and main, hauling them inch by inch along the corridor while Princess set the timer. “Keep going!” she sang out, assuming (correctly as it turned out) that the engineer would get the general gist of the English phrase.  
  
She turned and ran. Keyop was sending a homing signal and she set about following it to its source.  
  
  
  
  
“The others are going to meet up with us,” Keyop told his companions. “They aren’t meeting as much resistance as they expected, which means that resistance might be waiting for _us_!”  
  
“Great,” Alban said. “How are you going with that map, Al?”  
  
“If I’ve got it right,” Jones said, “we’ll need to turn left at the next junction, take a stairwell up four levels and follow the corridor straight along. Maybe a hundred yards?”  
  
“Let’s hope we find some cover,” Rossi said. “These corridors are just too open for my liking.”  
  
“I second that,” Alban said. “Let’s move it.”  
  
“Okay,” Keyop said. “I’m on point.”  
  
The group encountered only one more Spectran who was pushing what looked like a mail trolley before they reached the stairwell, and Keyop had the unfortunate soldier unconscious and stuffed head-first into his own mail bag within a matter of seconds. Keyop herded his group into the stairwell and led them up four levels as recommended by the map.  
  
When they reached the exit to the stairwell, Keyop eased the door open and risked a glance down the corridor. He jumped back. “Four guards,” he whispered. “I don’t know if they saw me – oh, crud, they did! Engage!” He leapt forward, bolas in hand. The others followed, brandishing their weapons.  
  
Shay Alban drew both her sidearms and threw herself sideways, sliding along the vinyl floor, firing as she did so. As she fetched up against the far wall, Rossi began firing in the other direction. “We got incoming!” he shouted.  
  
“Al!” Keyop cried. “Take the Chief to the hangar door and try to get it open!” He sprinted to Rossi’s side.  
  
“It’s okay,” Rossi said. “There were only two. They must have been on guard duty and responded to the shooting.”  
  
Anderson and Jones raced around the four prone bodies in the corridor and skidded to a stop at the hangar door.  
  
Jones examined the security lock. “It’s biometric,” she said. “Shay! Bring me one of those guards!”  
  
“Didn’t think your tastes ran that way, girl,” Alban quipped, dragging a fresh and bloodied corpse toward the hangar door. Anderson hurried over to assist. Keyop and Rossi caught up and helped with the body.  
  
Jones pressed the dead man’s right thumb against the biometric reader. The telltale light turned green.  
  
Keyop opened the door a bare inch and peered through. “Looks okay,” he murmured. His acute hearing picked up the sound of approaching personnel. “We got maybe a dozen men coming up behind us,” he said. “Come on!” He pushed the door inward and ushered the adults through.  
  
The hangar was a large echoing cavern of a space, clearly intended to house something big. The something big in question appeared to be under construction. The bones of an airframe had been put together in the centre of the hangar. It was anyone’s guess as to what it was going to be eventually (Keyop’s own private prediction was ‘rubble.’) Cabling ran up and down the support members and rolls of cables lay on the floor. Tools, compressors and welding equipment had been left lying around the would-be ship and crates of equipment lay open. A small shuttle craft was parked to one side of the hangar and there were stacks of crates, trolleys and numerous electric vehicles parked around the periphery. Keyop commandeered an electric buggy, disconnected the flat-bed trailer attached to it, and parked it hard up beside the door while Anderson, Jones, Alban and Rossi took stock of the area.  
  
“Odd that there aren’t any personnel in here,” Rossi said, frowning.  
  
Keyop jumped out of the electric buggy and ran over to re-join the rest of his group. “Looks like they downed tools and left in a hurry,” he said. He paused for a moment, concentrating on the ambient noise. “I can’t hear anyone. I don’t like this. Smells like an ambush.”  
  
On the far side of the hangar was a large door wide enough to drive a truck through. Above it was a sign reading, ‘DRAHINO KAGA PNOH,’ which in Spectran translated literally to ‘Run Away _conditional_ Extremity Dire’ or ‘Emergency Exit.’ “See that?” Keyop told the others. “That’s our way out of here. Better let me check it out first in case there’s anyone waiting on the other side.”  
  
A door to one side of the hangar opened and Keyop was obliged to make an abrupt change in direction. He hustled his companions behind a stack of crates. A squad of twelve Spectrans jogged through the open doorway. They were followed by another. Then another. And another.  
  
The four intruders hunkered down behind the crates, which suddenly seemed terribly fragile.  
  
“Oh, crud,” Keyop said softly.  
  
  
  
  
Commander Astenn shut the door of his private quarters behind him and activated the lock. G-Force! G-Force were in his base! He activated his private tele-comm, entered a code and waited.  
  
After a moment, a familiar masked face appeared on the screen. “ _What is it, Commander_?” Zoltar prompted.  
  
“Sire,” Astenn said, inclining his head respectfully. “There has been an incident. G-Force have infiltrated the base. Our agent within the ISO facility has not answered any of my calls.”  
  
“ _I see_ ,” Zoltar said. “ _What do you intend to do about it_?”  
  
“Owens is in the wind,” Astenn said. “I say we abandon him to whatever fate the Great Spirit has ordained for him. As for G-Force, I will attend to the problem personally.”  
  
“ _Do not fail me, Commander Astenn_ ,” Zoltar said, and closed the channel.  
  
Astenn shut the tele-comm unit down and walked to his wardrobe. He opened it and took out a uniform on a hanger. The uniform was something he hadn’t had to wear in a while: a form fitting armoured black body suit, with a black winged cape and a helmet that resembled the stylised head of a raven.  
  
“I will deal with you personally, G-Force,” Astenn said quietly.  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  1. Not to be confused with the Lesser Swamps of Adzar. The Greater Swamps of Adzar are just nasty.  

  2. _Ignots_ is a uniquely Spectran swear word. It isn’t all _that_ rude, relatively speaking, having a literal translation of, “the diseased gonads of a broken-down beast of burden.” It’s probably just a shade worse than saying, “Oh, balls!” (For a full translation including the clinical veterinary reference, see _Crusades_.)




	5. Conservation of Ninjutsu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Spectra, already.

 

 

The three squads of Spectran soldiers took up position, blocking the exit, glancing around nervously and shuffling their feet. A sergeant growled something in Spectran and the soldiers cradled their assault rifles and settled, but still emanated an air of apprehension.  
  
The sergeant stalked up and down in front of them in a very sergeanty way, delivering an address at full sergeant-volume that seemed to be part pep-talk, part reprimand and part derision. There were the inevitable comparisons to invertebrate life forms, which seemed to be an ingrained and universal part of sergeantness throughout the known galaxy. [1]  
  
“Okay,” Keyop said softly. “They’re all carrying assault rifles. We need to get in close. In a melee, an assault rifle is just a big clumsy stick.”  
  
“Yeah,” Alban murmured. “That’s what they tell us at the Academy.”  
  
“It’s true,” Keyop said.  
  
“I guess you’d know,” Alban conceded. “Al’s good with those batons. Nino’s our best shot. I’m more comfortable with a firearm than a stick, to be honest.”  
  
Jones holstered her guns and drew her batons from their sheaths. “Remind me to thank Jason if we live through this,” she said.  
  
“Okay,” Keyop said. “Here’s the plan: Al, you and I’ll clear a path. Shay, Nino, Chief, you three lay down covering fire. Nino to the left, Shay to the right. Chief, up the middle to start and then pick off anyone who looks like they might be getting a bead on us. Once they’re focussed fair and square on us, you follow us in. Stay close but not too close. Nino, once you’re moving you’ve got our six. Watch for snipers on that gantry up there.”  
  
Alban nodded. “Got it. Sir,” she added for good measure.  
  
Keyop took a deep breath. “You ready, Al?”  
  
“As I’ll ever be, sir,” Jones said.  
  
Behind them, someone tried to open the door and it moved about an inch before it thumped against the electric buggy that Keyop had parked there. Ahead of them, masked heads turned toward the door, which banged against the buggy again in another attempt at opening it. Spectran curses could be heard coming from the other side.  
  
“Time to go,” Keyop declared. “Fire at will. Try not to hit us.” He leaped high over the crates.  
  
Anderson began firing. His first three or four shots were random but he was quickly targeting Spectrans who looked as though they were bringing their rifles to bear as Jones vaulted over the top of the crates and sprinted after Keyop. Beside him, Alban and Rossi were also laying down fire around Keyop and Jones.  
  
A few of the Spectrans seemed to have the presence of mind to fire at their attackers. Keyop had deliberately stayed ahead of Jones so that he could use his nanotech cape as a shield and deflect bullets. Jones’ battle dress might be armoured, but Keyop was well aware that bullets hurt no matter what and there was no defence against a head shot. Once Keyop and Jones were in amongst the Spectrans, the soldiers couldn’t fire on them without hitting each other and the covering fire Anderson, Alban and Rossi were laying down had them confused. Unlike training androids, live Spectrans had a sense of self-preservation and didn’t seem to know whether they should attack, defend or flee. Some of them seemed to be trying to do all three at the same time. Shay Alban tapped her companions on the shoulders and they stood, still firing.   
  
Once they were clear of the crates, Alban and Anderson broke into a run with Rossi bringing up the rear while Keyop and Jones cut a swathe through the enemy, striking, kicking, ducking, weaving, but never stopping.   
  
Anderson let the adrenaline rush take him forward, firing, aiming, dodging, always heading for the exit door on the other side of the hangar. Alban moved with him, keeping her back to his as they cut their way through the enemy ranks.  
  
Movement above caught Anderson’s eye but Rossi had already brought his right arm up in an arc and squeezed the trigger of his gun to take out the Spectran on the gantry above who had been aiming a rifle toward him. The soldier toppled over the safety railing and took out three of his own when they broke his fall. Three more shots, three more Spectrans down.  
  
The sudden absence of gunfire was a blessed relief.  
  
Anderson swung his weapon around, taking in the hangar space and looking for danger.  
  
The most dangerous thing in his line of sight appeared to be Keyop, who was squaring his skinny shoulders and making his own visual sweep, as were Alban, Jones and Rossi.  
  
On the side of the hangar they’d just left, there were odd thuds against the door and the sounds of shouting interspersed with the occasional scream.  
  
“Come on,” Keyop said. Anderson and the others began jogging toward the exit door.  
  
A door on the gantry level above slammed open and a tall, thin, birdlike figure in black ran through, cleared the safety railing in an almost balletic leap and dropped to the floor. The Blackbird landed in a menacing crouch, dark wings falling into place at his back. Keyop raced over to his comrades and put himself between them and their new opponent.  
  
“Oh, _shit_ ,” Anderson said.  
  
The Blackbird rose to his full height and regarded the intruders out of a fathomless black mask.  
  
“That,” Keyop murmured, “is one of Zoltar’s elites. He’s wearing nanotech armour like mine. Bullets might slow him down a little but our best chance is to take him on together at close range. Hope you’ve got some charges left, Al.”  
  
“Not a problem, sir,” Jones said. “Just say the word.”  
  
“Five of us against one Blackbird,” Alban muttered. “We could be in with a chance if we can mob him.”  
  
“Coordinated attack. Just like we practiced.” Anderson took a breath and his fingers tightened on the triggers of his guns.  
  
Something bright arced through the air with a high-pitched whine and the Blackbird swayed, then crumpled into a heap on the floor. The sonic boomerang scythed away on its return arc. Mark plucked it from the air and sheathed it in one smooth motion.  
  
“I thought I told you!” Mark called from the gantry where he stood with Jason. “No big damn hero stuff!”   
  
Anderson shrugged. “What are you going to do? Ground me?”  
  
Mark and Jason took to the air and used their cape wings to control their descent to the hangar floor. Mark opened a channel on his communicator. “Tiny, we need pickup. Home in on my signal.”  
  
“ _On my way_!” Tiny responded. “ _Nice of you to call, Commander_.”  
  
“We couldn’t get a signal out before, Tiny,” Mark explained. “We were too far underground. Just get here. We can discuss the effects of rock walls on radio waves later.”  
  
Mark put his hands on his hips and stared at the carnage around him.  
  
Standing next to his Commander, Jason surveyed the damage for a moment. Bodies were strewn around the floor, some moving, some groaning, others lying motionless. The smell of blood reached Jason’s nostrils and he shook his head. “Could we put this down to executive stress?” he wondered aloud.  
  
“If that’s what this is, remind me never to take a desk job,” Mark said.  
  
The detonation from a small, shaped charge destroyed the door that Keyop had barricaded and lifted the buggy off the floor. It fell back to the floor, bounced, rolled over twice and came to rest upside down. Anderson and his group made a dive for the floor while Mark, Jason and Keyop crouched and used their capes to shield themselves as bits of door arced up and over the top of the buggy then clattered down to the floor. Princess strode through the clearing smoke, dusting her hands off. The Spectrans who had been trying to open the now-ex-door were visible only as prone, dark shapes through the thinning smoke.  
  
“Looks like you’ve been busy!” Princess remarked. “Power plant’s set to blow.”  
  
“Last one out’s a rotten egg!” Keyop declared, and leapt for the exit.  
  
  
  
  
Tiny Harper firewalled the levers and the _Phoenix_ powered her way through the sky, gaining altitude and distance. When he judged they’d gone far enough, he gently banked around in a turn to take in a sweeping view of the dark plume of smoke belching from the site of the Spectra base.  
  
Mark stood next to Princess’ station. “Nice work,” he told her.  
  
“Thanks, Commander,” Princess said.  
  
Mark turned his attention to his four passengers who were staying out of the way against the rear bulkhead of the bridge. He stalked back from the console until he stood in front of Anderson and gave his foster father an appraising glare. “Is that _blood_?” he asked.  
  
Anderson met Mark’s stare and held it. “I doubt the original owners are going to ask for it back,” he said.  
  
Mark tensed at Keyop’s hastily stifled snigger. “Chief, we talked about this…”  
  
Shay Alban made a point of clearing her throat. “Permission to speak, Commander?”  
  
“Granted, Major,” Mark prompted.  
  
“We were caught between two groups of enemy soldiers. We could’ve surrendered and then waited for you guys to realise we’d been captured, abort the ‘make the base go kablooey’ plan you had going, come back, rescue us and then go back to making the base go kablooey, but in all honesty, sir, it really didn’t seem like the most efficient use of everybody’s time.”  
  
Mark took a deep breath and let it out. “So noted,” he said. He turned to Lieutenant Colonel Jones for support. “Surely you have something to say about this.”  
  
“Under the circumstances, sir, fighting our way out _was_ our best option,” Jones said. “We kicked arse. We did not, however, take names.”  
  
Anderson, Alban and Rossi turned to stare at Jones, who drew herself up and folded her arms. “Does anyone wish to refute that statement?” Jones asked.  
  
“It’s true,” Alban agreed, shrugging. “I didn’t take names.”  
  
“Me neither,” Rossi said.  
  
“I forgot my pen,” Anderson lied.  
  
“We totally kicked ass,” Keyop declared. At Princess’ sharp look, he shrugged. “What? The grown-ups are saying it!”  
  
Mark turned around and walked back to the co-pilot’s seat. He sat down and consulted the readouts, then stared straight ahead at the vista of sky and the shrinking Earth below.  
  
“Tiny, you remember what I said yesterday about us _not_ having fallen into some weird parallel universe?” Mark said.  
  
“Yup,” Tiny said.  
  
“I may have been mistaken.”  
  
“I hear you,” Tiny said.  
  
“Take us home, Tiny,” Mark said.  


 

 

 

 

_fin_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  1. Twenty-second century cultural anthropologists have put forward several really interesting theories about why Sergeantness seems to be universally consistent across cultures, even when said cultures are separated by light-years. All of them are completely wrong. It’s all just a great big galactic coincidence, sorry.




End file.
